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s>ong# of i^eaben 




who have known the burden and darkness 

of a great sorrow and who would share the comfort and 

strength to be found in the faith and vision and sympathy of other souls and 

to all that dear company, whose faces we see no more, but whose love and 

whose lives are linked with our own forever, this little chaplet of flowers, 

gathered from many fields, is most tenderly inscribed. 

3Jn Jfflemorp of 

Who entered the unseen life 

'Presented by 

FIERCE {BROTHERS, Los Angeles, California 


ong£ of ^eatoen 

Jf rom jfflanp ^earte 

Compiled by 





3 Setter 

My Dear Friend: 

A NEW and overwhelming experience has been thrust upon you. A 
**■ loved one, whose life was linked to your very soul by ties more 
sacred and wonderful than any human language or symbol can express, 
and who walked with you in a sweet companionship, which strengthened, 
enriched and glorified all your existence, has listened to the call of the 
silent messenger and passed from your sight, leaving your heart more 
lonely and desolate than you had ever dared to think possible. Those 
dear eyes into which you once looked, now give no response to the eager 
questionings of your soul, and the hand which once clasped yours in 
tenderest love, now returns no answering pressure. 

Some strong one who stood by your side a noble protector, some 
gentle one, whose sweetness and tender love illumined the whole world 
and made it beautiful, some precious little one whose sweet baby fingers 
twined and wove themselves into the sacred inner cords of your heart, 
in a way which you once thought impossible, or it may be some aged 
one whose noble life of service has ever been a bulwark to the best that 
is within you, is with you now no more as in the days gone by. With 
whatever there is of the past, which you think you would change were 
you to live it over again, think how wonderfully precious will be its mem- 
ory now for all the years to come. Here you have a treasure, of which 
nothing can ever rob you so long as your own life shall last. 

My friend, as one who has experienced and borne the burden of a 
great sorrow like this one which well nigh crushes you, permit me to say 
this in loving sympathy with you in your bereavement: Do not think of 
the loved one as dead. There is no death: "Christ hath abolished death 
and brought life and immortality to light." 

We change the house in which we live, the clothes which we wear, 
the country in which we reside, but we remain the same, save to go on 
to new and higher things in life and experience. This dear one for whom 
your aching heart now yearns so hungrily has only changed houses, passed 
from the body which could be afflicted with disease and dissolution, to the 
glorious body, which is to be free forever from these pains, ailments and 
imperfections. The fetters of the soul have been broken and thrown aside, 


and the prison doors flung wide open, that is all. Nothing else has 
changed, could have changed, only to get a better vision and possess a 
less hampered and circumscribed existence. The real life is going on, 
under sunnier skies, and amid more propitious conditions, than ever could 
have been possible here. Our own love has not grown cold, but has the 
rather been deepened and intensified. So it is we must believe with the 
love of the dear one gone now from earthly sight, for you and for the 
other dear friends. The interest too, which this departed one had in you 
and in all those things which were mutually dear to you both, has not 
necessarily passed away forever. Though some of the things which once 
worried and perplexed, as well as some things which were held to be of 
value, are doubtless viewed in a different light, still your loved one is no 
more lost out of your life, and out of the things which worthily claimed 
your mutual attention and love, than Christ was lost from the lives and ac- 
tivities of the world which he came to enlighten, when he passed from the 
physical sight of those who loved and followed him. 

And then, too, let not the tears of your sorrow blind your eyes to the 
great truth that this precious soul of your devotion is not imprisoned in the 
tomb, to slumber through the long ages of the future, but is "alive with 
God, forevermore." Our loved ones are not far from us. They are 
with God, and God is here. They dwell not in some far off sphere, some 
country resplendent but remote, where they have lost all love and care 
and interest for those who still toil here in the old ways, but "ever near 
us tho* unseen, their dear immortal spirits tread.'* 

Let us then not be carried away wholly with our great grief. Think 
how wonderful God is, how much heavenly love and infinite beauty there 
must be in the nature of the One able to create souls so beautiful and pos- 
sessed of so many noble qualities, as you knew in the one who has just 
been crowned with the supreme experience of this earthly existence. How 
precious is the thought that He permitted you to have this dear companion- 
ship, even for a little while. 

Whatever that heaven is to which the friends go when they pass 
from the ways of this mortal life, from this time on it will ever seem to 
you nearer and dearer, because of the loved ones there — how the dread 
which once hung over us, relative to our entering it, disappears, as we 
remember that this one so greatly loved has gone along that way just 
ahead of us. 


And finally, dear friend, remember this. From that mighty sor- 
row which now so overwhelms you, something great and beautiful is 
sure to come into your life, something will enrich and strengthen your 
soul if you will permit it to do so. Just as when the night is darkest, 
the stars shine with the greater brilliancy, so out of the black pall of this 
new and seemingly terrible calamity, you will find if you continue to look 
upward, new stars of unknown beauty flashing in splendor, to comfort and 
guide you across the surging sea of life. Look up then, weary, lonely, sor- 
rowing soul, and you will see them, and remember this, that back of them, 
and about you is God. "Underneath are the everlasting arms." Trust 
then, dear friend, the Source of all life, and nothing will ever separate 
you from the presence of your loved ones. 
In deepest sympathy, 

& draper of gm&mtssion 

OLORD God of the whole earth, all souls are Thine, and our souls 
and our lives are wholly in thy hands. We have neither the power 
to resist, nor the right to gainsay thy will, but the heart, darkened and 
torn with its grief and fears, flees as a bird to its mountain, to Thee. In 
Thee alone from whom all trial and all blessing alike cometh, is there ref- 
uge for the soul. Teach us this day to say, "The Lord gave, and the 
Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord." 

O our Heavenly Father, we cannot bear alone this great burden of 
life, and all that life involves. Tremblingly do we say, "Thy will be 
done." O give us the power to accept thy will without fear. Thou O 
God, didst create the affections which life so often sorely wounds and be- 
reaves; look, we pray Thee, pitifully upon the bleeding of these wounds. 
Be patient, we beseech Thee, with the weakness of a soul still ungrown 
and ignorant. Our hearts cling to the objects of their love. It is so hard 
to give them up and cling to Thee alone, nay rather to know that in Thee 
we have them still. They were so near, and Thou to our weak faith and 
imperfect vision, dost often seem so far. Thou hidest thyself, and thy 
greatness is so great above us, that we sometimes cannot feel thy sympathy 

as we should. 


Heavenly Father, we are dumb before Thee. Be merciful we pray. 
Manifest the exceeding tenderness of thy compassion. Be pleased to 
remember how frail we are. And measure not, O God, we beseech Thee, 
thy goodness by our deserts. We are thy creatures. Thou has brought 
us into being. Spare, O Lord, the work of thy hand. Crush not utterly 
the souls that cry to Thee, out of their deep weakness and dependence. 

In the course of that life which Thou alone dost order, whatever it 
shall please Thee to take from us, or seem to take away, may it please 
Thee to leave with us the comfort of thy peace. Suffer not our souls to 
be bewildered utterly in trials, and permit us not to fall into the outer 
darkness of despair. 

Grant, O God, that ultimately the shadows of this troubled life may 
disappear through the rising of the sun of thy presence and thy love, 
and that with all those who have gone from our sight, we may meet in 
"that fair morn of morns" when the sorrows and tears and losses of this 
life shall be forgotten in the blessed companionships and compensations of 
the heavenly life. 

May the Spirit of all grace and power, which in the Garden and 
on the Cross did sustain Jesus of Nazareth, graciously be with us in this 
hour of unutterable darkness and grief, and for his sake, give us the vic- 
tory, here and hereafter. 

'*"%%<&* Co. — Rev ' Walter R ' Brooks > DD ' 

DURING these lonely days of strain and suspense, I have wished so 
much that I could be a little help to you. I can tell you this at least, 
and pray that you may have from God and your friends and your own 
heart, strength enough to get through one day at a time. I do not see 
what else you can do but just live, now. You cannot understand or ex- 
plain, but you know as well as I, that back of everything is God, and God 
is light — "we shall see;" and God is love — "we shall be satisfied." It 
may be a long while, but it will be worth waiting for. Trust Him — all 
you can — you will be glad you did. 
Copyright iqoi. by Malibie Babcock- 

Lhas. bcrtbner s oons 


Cfjrigtus Consolator 

DESIDE the dead I knelt for prayer, 
*-* And felt a presence as I prayed. 
Lo! it was Jesus standing there. 
He smiled: "Be not afraid!" 

"Lord, thou has conquered death, we know; 

Restore again to life," I said, 
"This one who died an hour ago." 

He smiled: "He is not dead!" 

"Asleep then, as thyself didst say, 

Yet thou canst lift the lids that keep 
His prisoned eyes from ours away!" 

He smiled: "He doth not sleep!" 

"Nay then, tho' haply he do wake, 

And look upon some fairer dawn, 
Restore him to our hearts that ache!" 

He smiled: "He is not gone!" 

"Alas! too well we know our loss, 

Nor hope again our joy to touch 
Until the stream of death we cross." 

He smiled: "There is no such!" 

"Yet our beloved seem so far, 

The while we yearn to feel them near, 
Albeit with thee we trust they are." 

He smiled: "And I am here!" 

"Dear Lord, how shall we know that they 

Still walk unseen with us and thee, 
Nor sleep, nor wander far away?" 

He smiled: "Abide in Me." 

— Rossiter Raymond. 


"3fa jHemortam" 

OH YET we trust that somehow good 
Will be the final goal of ill, 
To pangs of nature, sins of will 
Defects of doubt and taints of blood; 

That nothing walks with aimless feet, 

That no one life will be destroyed, 

Or cast as rubbish to the void 
When God hath made the pile complete. 

So runs my dream: but what ami? 

An infant crying in the night, 

An infant crying for the light: 
And with no language but a cry. 

I falter where I firmly trod, 

And falling with my weight of cares 

Upon the world's great altar-stairs, 
That slope thro' darkness up to God, 

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, 

And gather chaff and dust and call 

To what I feel is Lord of all, 
And faintly trust the larger hope. 

My own dim life should teach me this, 

That life shall live forevermore, 

Else earth is darkness at the core, 
And dust and ashes all that is. 

I hold it true whate'er befall; 

I feel it when I sorrow most, 

'Tis better to have loved and lost, 
Than never to have loved at all. 

— Alfred Tennyson. 


jHp peahen 

CAN I forget that yesterday, supernal, 
That thrilled my soul with life at meeting thine? 
Or shall I fail to reach the radiant morn eternal, 

When thy sweet love undimmed shall on me shine? 

For tho' the earth is large and heaven is filled with wonder, 
And life's dark mysteries hold no helpful gleam, 

I know that tearful ways which lead true hearts asunder, 
Must meet somewhere beyond life's troubled dream. 

And tho' our paths to-day seem strangely severed, 

Tho' long my way and lonely ere we meet, 
The magic of true love will bring them both together, 

Beyond the gates of pearl — in Heaven, complete. 

So still I trust my heavenly Father's leading 

And feel that he whose wisdom formed the soul, 

Can take these broken hearts, so sad, bereaved, and bleeding, 
And from life's fragments make one glorious whole. 

And this I know, that should I sadly wander, 

A million ages, missing still my way; 
Somewhere, O soul of mine, in some fair heaven yonder, 

Thy love shall be my heaven again some day. 

Yes, best of all, the old love is unbroken, 

I know thy presence ever at my side, 
Soul answers soul, beyond mere earth born fleeting token, 

'Tis heaven now, whatever may betide. 

— C. C. Pierce. 



IT SEEMETH such a little way to me, 
* Across to that strange country, the beyond; 
And yet, not strange, for it has grown to be 

The home of those of whom I am so fond. 
They make it seem familiar and most dear, 
As journeying friends, bring distant regions near. 

So close it lies that when my sight is clear 

I think I almost see the gleaming strand, 
I know I feel those who have gone from here 

Come near enough sometimes to touch my hand. 
I often think, but for our veiled eyes, 
We should find heaven right about us lies. 

I cannot make it seem a day to dread, 

When from this dear earth I shall journey out 

To that still dearer country of the dear, 

And join the lost ones so long dreamed about. 

I love this world, yet shall I love to go 

And meet the friends who wait for me I know. 

I never stand above a bier and see 

The seal of death set on some well-loved face, 

But what I think, "One more to welcome me, 
When I shall cross the intervening space 

Between this land and that one 'over there;' 

One more to make the strange beyond seem fair." 

And so for me there is no sting of death, 

And so the grave hath lost its victory. 
It is but crossing with a bated breath, 

And white, set face — a little strip of sea, 
To find the loved ones waiting on the shore, 
More beautiful, more precious than before. 

— Ella Wheeler Wilcox 


Cfje Coming Htfe 

DEATH turns our thoughts toward immortality. Heaven never seems 
so real to us as when it becomes the abode of some one whom we 
have known and loved. And then when the treasures of our hearts are 
there, we can easily believe that no heart warmed into a glow by the 
fire of brotherly love will ever suffer an eternal chill; that no spiritual 
flame that grows brighter with the years will ever be extinguished, never 
to shine again. 

Christ gave us proof of immortality, and yet it would hardly seem 
necessary that one should rise from the dead to convince us that the grave 
is not the end. To every created thing God has given a tongue that pro- 
claims a resurrection. If the Father designs to touch with a divine power 
the cold and pulseless heart of the buried corn and make it burst forth 
into a new life, will He leave neglected in the earth the soul of man, made 
in the image of the Creator? If he stoops to give to the rosebush, whose 
withered blossoms float upon the autumn breeze, the sweet assurance of 
another springtime, will he refuse the words of hope, to the sons of men, 
when the frosts of winter come? If matter, mute, inanimate, changed by 
the force of nature into a multitude of forms, can never die, will the spirit 
of man suffer annihilation when it has paid a brief visit like a loyal guest 
to this tenement of clay? No, I am as sure that there is another life as 
I am that I live today. I am sure that as the grain of wheat contains 
within, an invisible germ which can discard its body and build a new one 
from earth and air, so this body contains a soul which can clothe itself 
anew when this poor frame crumbles into dust. 

— William Jennings Bryan. 

& better 

Dear Friend: 

THE news which this bears to you would be sad were it not for the 
immortal hope and comforts which come to us through faith in the 
living Christ. Our dear and ever beloved mother entered the unseen and 
immortal life yesterday morning. We do not mourn her as one overcome 
by "the last enemy," but as a daughter of the King, upon whom has been 
conferred the supreme decoration for faithful service. We do not con- 
sider her as dead, but "alive forevermore" and we shall not think of her 
as gone from us, but as being with God more truly than ever, and God 
is here. Her faith in the reality and nearness of the heavenly life, grew 
to her in her last days, to be a certainty, and no shadow of doubt ever 
crossed her heart. Hereafter when the Christmas time comes around, we 
shall not think of it as a sad anniversary; but the season of the Saviour's 
birth, will be the time at which she attained her greatest victory. 

— C. C. Pierce. 

THERE is no death. The stars go down 
To rise upon some fairer shore, 
And bright in heaven's jeweled crown 
They shine forevermore. 

There is no death. The dust we tread 

Shall change beneath the summer showers 

To golden grain or mellow fruit, 
Or rainbow- tinted flowers. 

There is no death; the leaves may fall, 
The flowers may fade and pass away — 

They only wait through wintry hours, 
The coming of the May. 

There is no death. An angel form 
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread; 

He bears our best loved ones away, 
And then we call them "dead." 

He leaves our heart all desolate, 

He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers; 

Transplanted into bliss, they now 
Adorn immortal bowers. 

There is no death! the choicest gifts 
That heaven hath kindly lent to earth, 

Are ever first to seek again, 
The country of their birth. 

And all things that for growth or joy 
Are worthy of our love and care, 

Whose loss hath left us desolate, 
Are safely garnered there. 


Born into that undying life, 

They leave us but to come again; 
With joy we welcome them the same 

Except in sin and pain. 

There is no death! although we grieve 

When beautiful familiar forms 
That we have learned to love are torn 

From our embracing arms — 

Although with bowed and breaking heart, 

With sable garb and silent tread, 
We bear their senseless dust to rest 

And say that they are "dead." 

They are not dead, they have but passed 

Beyond the mists that blind us here, 
Into the new and larger life 

Of that serener sphere. 

They have but dropped their robe of clay 

To put their shining raiment on ; 
They have not "wandered far away", 

They are not "lost" or "gone". 

Tho disenthralled and glorified, 

They are still here and love us yet; 
The dear ones they have "left behind", 

They never can forget. 

We feel upon our fevered brow 

Their gentle touch, their breath of balm 
Their arms enfold us and our hearts 

Grow comforted and calm. 

And ever near us, tho' unseen, 

Their dear immortal spirits tread; 
For all this boundless Universe 
Is Life — there are no dead. 

Arranged from Buliver Lytton and J. L. McCreery. 

®ux Kobe 

/^\UR love is not a fading earthly flower: 

^^ Its winged seed dropped down from Paradise, 

And, nursed by day and night, by sun and shower, 

Doth momently to fresher beauty rise: 

To us the leafless autumn is not bare 

Nor winter's rattling boughs lack lusty green. 

Our summer hearts make summer's fullness, where 

No leaf, or bud, or blossom may be seen: 

For nature's life in love's deep life doth lie, 

Love — whose forgetfulness is beauty's death, 

Whose mystic key these cells of Thou and I 

Into the infinite freedom openeth, 

And makes the body's dark and narrow grate, 

The wind-flung leaves of Heaven's palace gate. 

*"1g;^L,Mm»c. — J. R. Lowell. 

Wfllfcn tije jWormng Jkeafeef 

¥ EAD kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, 

*-** Lead thou me on. 

The night is dark and I am far from home, — 

Lead thou me on. 
Keep thou my feet I do not ask to see 
The distant scene, — one step enough for me. 
I was not ever thus nor prayed that thou 

Should'st lead me on: 

I loved to choose and see my path, but now 

Lead thou me on. 
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 
Pride ruled my will : remember not past years. 
So long thy power hath blessed me, sure it still 

Will lead me on; 
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent till 

The night is gone; 
And with the morn those angel faces smile 
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. 

— John Henry Newman. 

eternal Htfe 

WE TALK of immortality; but there is a better phrase than that, — 
the words of Jesus, "eternal life." That implies not mere dura- 
tion, but quality. It blends the present and the future in one. It sets 
before us a state into which we are called to enter now, and into which 
as we enter we find ourselves at home in our Father's house, beyond the 
power of doubt and fear. 

Mere continued existence, — what is it? That boulder yonder has 
existed for ages, a very eternity to the imagination ; and it is only a boulder 
after all. One hour of throbbing, loving human life, is worth more than 
all its barren eternity. What is it to you or me, whether or not we go on 
living, if our lives are to be made up of petty and ignoble thoughts and 
aspirations? The real trouble with most of us is not doubt as to whether 
we shall live hereafter, but the fact that as yet we have hardly begun to 
live at all. 

Nothing is so completely beyond the power of death as a noble 
love. Parting can shatter only its outward shell. Under that strange 
touch, love in its inmost recesses, kindles and glows with a divine fire. 
Whom of the living do we love as we love our dead? Whom else do we 
hold so sacredly and securely? Not as a memory of a long past, — noth- 
ing in our present is so real as they, and toward our unknown future we 
go with a great and solemn gladness, beckoned by their presence. 

— Geo. S. Merriam. 

Z^" OD'S ways are not our ways, and dim and dark 
^-* Sometimes they seem, and sorrow-filled, 
As if all joy had died, and Grief distilled 
Her tears in liquid fire. Then, then, O hark! 
God speaks! Be not afraid, my child, 
Though tempests rave and storms break wild; 
For I am near, behind the sullen dark, 
My hand upon the helm, I guide thy bark. 

— Eliza A. Otis. 



"C ARE WELL, sweetheart, my precious one, 
* Goodby, but not forever; 

My love for you no words can tell, 
Nor long eternity can sever. 

Oh, how I miss thy touch, thy smile, 

The magic of thine eye, — 
They changed this earth to heaven awhile, 

Through comradeship, divine and high. 

Did I not love thee, heart so dear? 

Thou wert most wondrous sweet to me; 
Thou wert my song, my life, my cheer, — 

My soul found precious rest in thee. 

The burden of this broken heart, 

My shattered hopes, my fears, 
I would to thee alone impart, 

Through all the shadowed lonely years. 

But thou, dear comrade soul, art gone, 

While I, with aching heart, 
Must wander on, too sad and lone, 

Too desolate to bear my part. 

And yet from me thou are not gone; 

Deep down within my soul, 
I hold thee, love thee still, my own, 

And seek with thee, the heavenly goal. 

So long and lovingly have we, 

This blessed way been given — 
The pledge of gladness yet to be, 

Along the pathways of some heaven. 

God was so very good to us, 

He gave such wealth of love and joy, 

I found such rest and peace with thee, 
Would he that wondrous gift destroy? 


He would not make a soul like thine, 

With all the treasures of its love, 
And bless me with its powers divine, 

Save as a pledge of heaven above. 

And to that heaven of thy love, 

Some glad day I shall come, 
I shall in glorious realms above, 

Regain my paradise, my home. — C. C. Pierce. 

ffl §9ou &re tltfjere 

IF YOU are there when I am called to go ; 
•*• If you can sit and hold my trembling hand, 
And whisper words of cheer to me, and show, 

The way that leads into the Unknown Land, 
I shall not fear the darkness, everywhere, 
If you are there. 

If you are there when Death shall beckon me, 
And slowly, slowly, earthly things shall fade, 

Then can I sail across the unknown sea, 
And ride the stormy billows unafraid. 

I'll look to him above, and not despair, 
If you are there. 

If you are there when Death with icy touch, 
Upon my pallid brow his hand shall place, 

I shall not fear the passing overmuch, 

For you will point me to God's saving grace; 

I'll only see his glory everywhere, 
If you are there. 

If you are there, I surely will not fear, 

When Death shall gently close my weary eyes! 
I know 'twill all be well if you are near 

And point the shining pathway to the skies, 
All will be bright and beautiful and fair, 
If you are there. 

— E. A. Brininslool. 

peahen 0m Home 

IT CANNOT be that earth is man's only abiding place. It cannot be 
that our life is a bubble, cast up by the ocean of eternity to float for 
one brief moment upon the surface, and then sink into nothingness and 
darkness forever. Else why is it that the high and glorious aspirations, 
which leap like angels from the temples of our hearts, are forever wander- 
ing abroad unsatisfied? Why is it that the rainbow and the cloud come 
over us with a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off and leave us 
to muse on their faded loveliness? Why is it that the stars which hold 
their festival around the midnight throne are set above the grasp of our 
limited faculties, and are forever mocking us with their unapproachable 
glory? Finally, why is it that the bright forms of human beauty are pre- 
sented to the view, and then taken from us, leaving the thousand streams 
of affections to flow back in an Alpine torrent upon our hearts? 

We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth. There is a 
realm where the rainbow never fades; where the stars will be spread out 
before us like the islands that slumber on the ocean; and where the beau- 
tiful beings that here pass before us like visions will stay in our presence 
forever. — George D. Prentice. 

THEY ask, many of them, what am I going to do now, that she who 
was the inspiration of it all, is gone. But she is not gone. If in 
my soul I believed that, I should be desolate indeed. It is only that the 
river separates us once more as when we were children. I know as well 
as I knew then, that she is in the garden just beyond, where all her sum- 
mers are beautiful now, and that she is waiting there for me. 

So I shall seek the path to that garden till I find it. I am once more 
where I dreamed as a boy, and I know that I shall wake, as I did then, 
and find the truth unspeakably fairer than my dream. Nor do I fear to 
miss the way, for our Lord himself has charted it, so I cannot go wrong. 
"I am the way," He said. She went trustfully across the river with Him, 
and was not afraid. So why should I be? I shall be lonesome, yes! God 
alone knows how lonesome. But I have the sweet memory of the years 
we walked together here, and what are a few years of loneliness to the 
eternity of joy ahead, where hearts are never wrung in parting? And 
I shall not be idle. I shall be doing what she would have me do, and 
in it all, as you see, she will yet be the inspiration, as she was for all 
the years that are gone. — Jacob A. Riis. 


i^ot Cfjangeb, but <§lortfieb 

XTOT changed, but glorified; Oh, beauteous language, 

* ^ For those who weep, 

Mourning the loss of some dear face departed, 

Fallen asleep. 
Hushed into silence, never more to comfort 

The hearts of men, 
Gone like the sunshine of another country, 

Beyond our ken. 

Oh, dearest dead, we saw the white soul shining 

Behind the face, 
Bright with the beauty and celestial glory 

Of an immortal grace. 
What wonder that we stumble, faint and weeping, 

And sick with fears, 
Since thou hast left us — all alone with sorrow, 

And blind with tears? 

Can it be possible no words shall welcome 

Our coming feet? 
How will it look, the face that we have cherished, 

When next we meet? 
Will it be changed, so glorified and saintly, 

That we shall know it not? 
Will there be nothing that will say, "I love thee, 

And have not forgot?" 

Oh, longing heart, the same dear face transfigured 

Shall meet thee there 
Less sad, less wistful in immortal beauty — 

Divinely fair; 
The mortal veil, washed pure with many weepings, 

Is rent away, 
And the great soul that sat within its prison 

Hath found the day. 


In the clear morning of that other country, 

In Paradise, 
With the same face that we have loved and cherished, 

She shall arise. 
Let us be patient, we who mourn with weeping 

Some vanished face, 
The Lord hath taken but to add more beauty, 

And a diviner grace. 

Yes, we shall find once more beyond earth's sorrows, 

Beyond these skies, 
In the fair city of the "sure foundation," 

Those heavenly eyes, 
With the same welcome shining through their sweetness, 

That met us here — 
Eyes from whose beauty God hath banished weeping, 

And wiped away the tear. 

Think of us dearest one, while o'er life's waters, 

We seek the land, 
Missing thy voice, thy touch, and the true helping 

Of thy pure hand, 
Till, through the storm and tempest, safely anchored, 

Just on the other side, 
We find thy dear face looking through death's shadows, 

Not changed, but glorified. 

Hobe anb Hilt 

YET hope will dream and faith will trust, 
Since He who knows our need is just, 
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. 

Alas for him who never sees, 
The stars shine through his cypress trees, 

Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, 
Nor looks to see the breaking day, 

Across the mournful marbles play; 
Who ne'er hath learned in hours of faith, 

The truth to sense and flesh unknown, 
That life is ever lord of death, 
And love can never lose its own. 

— /. G. Whittier. 

' I 'HAT love which survives the tomb, is one of the noblest attributes 
* of the soul. If it has its woes, it likewise has its comforts; and 
when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of 
recollection, when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the 
present ruins of all that we most loved is softened away into pensive medi- 
tation, on all that it was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out 
such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may sometimes throw a passing 
cloud over the bright hours of gaiety, or spread a deeper sadness over the 
hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it even for the song of pleasure, or 
the burst of revelry? 

No, there is a voice from the tomb, sweeter than song. There is a 
remembrance of the dead to which we turn, even from the charms of the 
living. Oh! the grave! It buries every error, covers every defect, ex- 
tinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring none but 
fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon even the 
grave of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should have 
warred with the poor handful of earth that lies now mouldering before 

But the grave of those we loved, what a place for tender meditation ! 
There it is that we call up in long review, the whole history of virtue and 
gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us, almost un- 
heeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy; there it is that we dwell upon 
the tenderness, the solemn awful tenderness of the parting scene ; the last 
testimonies of departing love, the thrilling, oh, how thrilling pressure of 
the hand, the faint and faltering accents struggling to give one more as- 
surance of affection! The last fond look of the eye, turning upon us 
even from the threshold of existence. Ay, go to the grave of thy loved 
one, and meditate, and there weave thy chaplet of sweet flowers and 
strew these fragrant beauties of nature over the sacred spot. It will con- 
sole thy broken spirit and whisper to thee of a love that rises triumphant 
over the tomb, and which gloriously lives when the fleshly heart will beat 
no more. 

— Washington Irving. 



THEY covered my bed with roses, 
And laid it under the snow, 
But I was not there my darlings, 
Tho' men may tell you so. 

Do you see the broken egg shell, 

When the young bird soars away? 

Is it there in that poor prison, 
Or singing to the day? 

Do you see the swinging cradle, 

That held the butterfly? 
That now is soaring gladly, 

Up in the azure sky? 

Do you know the flinty cover 
That wraps the seed men set 

Deep in the darkness underground, 
And leave to cold and wet? 

When comes the spring and sunshine, 
The wheat will grow and wave, 

But the husk that held the kernel, 
Still lieth in the grave. 

My sweets, it was my broken shell, 

My cradle and my husk, 
They covered over with blossoms 

And bore away at dusk. 

So smile again my darlings, 

Be glad when I am free: 
God hath you in his keeping, 

To bring you safe to me. 

— Rose Terry Cook. 


Wi)t Country of tfje Moblt 

A BOVE the grandeur of the sunsets 
** Which delight this earthly clime 
And the splendors of the dawnings 

Breaking o'er the hills of time, 
Is the richness of the radiance 

Of the land beyond the sun, 
Where the noble have their country 

When the work of life is done. 

Speech cannot describe their heaven, 

Nor hath earth such brightness known, 
For that heaven is the country 

Of the Mighty and his throne; 
Man's brief furlongs cannot bound it, 

Nor his reason comprehend: 
God alone counts all its headlands, 

And like him it hath no end. 

Power almighty flows forever 

Round the wondrous land above, 
In its flood and ebbing constant 

To the everlasting Love; 
Chanting with the matchless cadence 

Of a deep and boundless sea, 
To the continent of heaven, 

Anthems of eternity. 

Welcome to those glories given 

From angelic harps of gold, 
Shall full often be repeated, 

Yet it never shall grow old; 
Music grander than earth's noblest, 

Than all eloquence of words 
And the sweetest of the carols 

Of the gladdest of the birds. 


And those glories shall the problem 

Of this earthly life explain, 
All its bitter turn to sweetness, 

All its losses turn to gain. 
And the rapture of the new life 

Shall exceed the griefs of this; 
And amid those scenes of grandeur 

Even labor shall be bliss. 

His dear name throughout the ages, 

As the aeons circle by, 
To the trend and to the cadence 

Of their own eternity, 
Shall be theme and inspiration 

In the land beyond the sun, 
Where the noble have their country 

When the work of life is done. 

— Aella Greene. 

Come §9e ©feconstolate 

/^OME ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish: 
^* Come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel; 
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish 
Earth has no sorrow, that heaven cannot heal. 

Joy of the comfortless, light of the straying, 

Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure; 
Here speaks the Comforter tenderly saying — 

Earth has no sorrow, that heaven cannot cure. 

Here see the Bread of Life: see waters flowing 
Forth from the throne of God, pure from above, 

Come to the feast of love; come, ever knowing 
Earth has no sorrow, but heaven can remove. 

— Thomas Moore. 


2Beatf) anb tfje Jf uture 

\V7HAT death will bring to any one is determined by what life has 
W been. There are no broken links on the chain of existence. "Death 
is no juggler, to transmute qualities at a touch." Death is merely an in- 
cident, a transmission, a change of place, not a change of selfhood. Death 
makes no gap in any life. It is the birth-pang into a higher existence. All 
the experiences of the present are carried forward into the future; the har- 
vest of character here ripened is there gathered in and stored up. Nothing 
is lost. As life is begun here, it is continued there. "To be continued in 
our next," is written at the close of the last chapter of every human life. 
Out of the darkness of judgment, divine solicitude shines forth with ever 
increasing brightness. Other religions represent man as seeking God; the 
religion of the Bible alone represents God as seeking man. So long as the 
smallest ember of spiritual power lies smouldering beneath the ashes of a 
ruined life, there is no abatement of the efforts of God to save that soul. 
When His efforts fail, He mourns with a sorrow of heart which cannot be 
measured. The difference it makes to Him, whether the lost remain so or 
are at last reclaimed, none can ever know. Into His joy, when the end of 
His long and loving search has been attained, earth may refuse to enter; 
but as He returns from the wilderness leading the wanderer home the 
Heavens will peal their loudest. 

"And the angels echo around the throne, 
Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own." 

— Rev. James M. Campbell, D.D. 


\V/OULD it be like God to create such beautiful, unselfish loves, more 
* * like the loves of heaven, than any type we know, just for three 
score years and ten? Would it be like Him to let our souls grow together 
here, so that the separating is the day of pain, and then wrench them apart 
for all eternity? What is meant by such expressions as "risen together," 
"sitting together in heavenly places?" If they mean anything, they mean 
recognition, friendship, enjoyment. Our friends are not dead nor asleep; 
they go on living; they are near us always, and God has said, "We should 
know each other there." 

— Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 


GPfje ©tfjer OTorlb 

IT lies around us like a cloud, — 
* A world we do not see; 
Yet the sweet closing of an eye 
May bring us there to be. 

Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; 

Amid our worldly cares 
Its gentle voices whisper love, 

And mingle with our prayers. 

Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, 
Sweet helping hands are stirred, 

And palpitate the veil between 
With beatings almost heard. 

The silence — awful, sweet, and calm— 
They have no power to break; 

For mortal words are not for them 
To utter or partake. 

So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, 
So near to press they seem, — 

They softly lull us to our rest, 
And melt into our dream. 

And in the hush of rest they bring 

'Tis easy now to see 
How lovely and how sweet a thing 

The hour of death may be. 

To close the eye, and close the ear, 

Rapt in a trance of bliss, 
To gently dream in loving arms 

And wake to that from this. 

Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, 
Scarce asking where we are, 

To feel all evil sink away, 
All sorrow and all care. 


Sweet souls around us watch us still, 

Press nearer to our side, 
Into our thoughts, into our prayers, 

With gentle helpings glide. 

Let death between us be as naught, 

A dried and vanished stream; 
Our joy the glad reality, 

This suffering life the dream. 

— Harriet Beecher Stone. 


T KNOW not how, nor when nor where — 
■*• Yet I believe that we shall meet 

Beyond that tapestry of air, 

When mortal pulses cease to beat. 

I cannot think that thou wert made 

So wondrously fair to see — 
To bloom a season, then to fade 

And vanish as a dream from me. 

While gazing in deep eyes of thine, 

I deem I read the truth to be 
That thou the image of divine 

Will live through all eternity. 

And I, aware of my un worth, 

Still fondly trust the power of love 
To lift me upward from the earth, 

Until I reach the plane above. 

I know not which of us will go 

To pioneer that distant state, 
But something whispers me: "We know 

The first will for the other wait." 

So now I rest contentedly, 

Regarding neither time nor place, 
As in the end mine eyes shall see 
Mine own beloved face to face. 

— Louis F. Curtis. 


THE harmony of man with the world in which he lives, is never 
complete. He is ever vibrating between trembling apprehensions 
and glowing aspirations. His heart throbs constantly with those unsatis- 
fied desires with which God has crowned him, but which are so far, 
so infinitely far from complete realization in any condition of life. Amid 
conscious infirmities, under sentence of death, there is ever a feeling 
after, if haply he may find his home. The race is homesick. It longs 
for a knowledge more satisfying, a voice of welcome more cordial, an 
approval more tranquillizing, and a resting place more permanent, than 
earth can give. 

The only beings on earth whom God has so created as to be 
satisfied with this life are brutes and fools. Man becomes more rest- 
less, the more his wants are supplied. Grant his desires, and you 
multiply them. Deck him with kingly robes and you are not so near 
satisfying him as if he were in tattered rags. Clothe him with righteous- 
ness as with a garment, and you have increased his longings for a 
purer life — a resurrection in the likeness of his Redeemer. 

The life of man has no meaning, if this throbbing nature of his 
ceases to live at physical death. But on the supposition that man is 
at present placed in an unnatural and temporal sphere, and that he 
will attain the end and object of his creation, sometime, somewhere, 
on the supposition that every man will find his place — that all may 
find what they hope or expect — the riddles are explained. Man is no 
longer the "wretch" and the "fool" of creation, which the maxims of 
all nations have otherwise justly declared him to be, but the object of 
God's tender solicitude, the being whose true sphere is in eternity. Is 
not the blunder of man's creation unpardonable, unless there be for 
him a future existence? — L. T. ToT»nsend y D.D. 

IN THE midst of the overwhelming tragedy of the Lusitania a radiant 
beam lights up the submerging gloom. Charles Frohman, the eminent 
actor remarked to a survivor as the vessel with its precious cargo was sink- 
ing: "Why fear death? It is the most beautiful adventure of life." In 
that immortal exclamation this gallant hero epitomized the teachings of 
Jesus who said, "I am come that they might have life, and that they might 
have it more abundantly." Death is not the end, not extinction, but an- 
other adventure; it is life, pressing forward into the domain of mystery — 
where only conquest awaits it. — Dr. Charles Edward Locke. 


Jfflp ©ton g>fmtt Come 

SERENE I fold my hands and wait, 
Nor care for wind or tide or sea; 
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, 
For all my own shall come to me. 

I stay my haste, I make delays, — 

For what avails this eager pace? 
I stand amid eternal ways; 

And what is mine shall know my face. 

Asleep — awake — by night or day, — 

The friends I seek are seeking me; 
Nor wind can drive my bark astray, 

Nor change the tide of destiny. 

What matter if I stand alone? 

I wait with joy the coming years; 
My heart shall reap what it has sown, 

And gather up the fruit of tears. 

The planets know their own, and draw — 

The tide turns to the sea; 
I stand serene 'mid Nature's law, 

And know mine o.wn shall come to me. 

The stars come nightly to the sky, 

The dews fall on the lea; 
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high 

Can keep mine own away from me. 

— John Burroughs. 

Build thee more stately mansions O my soul! 

As the swift seasons roll; 

Leave thy low-vaulted past! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the lasU 
Shut thee from heaven by a dome more vast, 

Till thou at length art free, 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's 

Unresting sea! 

— Oliver Wendell Holmes. 


tEfje ©esttnp of 4Wan 

V/OU feel that your human heart would mourn inconsolably over man as 
* incomplete, if his range were limited to the life that now is. You 
think of persons unspeakably dear to you, whose extinction would seem as 
criminal as it is incredible. You think of humanity in general composed of 
persons, in whom alone its unimaginable wealth of power and possibility 
can come to fulfillment. It is through thoughts and convictions like these, 
that a sense of the fitness of the immortal life overshadows you, and its 
reality as a spiritual necessity may so impress you that you become as sure 
of the future as you are of the present. You feel yourself struggling 
along with the struggle of the universal spirit, out toward larger scope. 

When you think of God, of his greatness, his eternity, his love, his 
nearness of heart to man, as all this has been brought home to us in Jesus 
Christ, you catch a glimpse of man whom you love as akin to God in the 
spiritual nature he bears, and so in your vision of God, you have a solid 
foundation for your high hope of man. 

The everlasting world which man needs is not a dream; it exists, and 
it is not vacant. God is there. He exists eternally in the world to which 
man aspires. There is the Being, upon whom even now our being reposes. 
And when we discern the God of all spirits in the world invisible, we see 
how normal it is for human spirits to rise thither and find the destiny that 
befits them. 

You have not reasoned it out, you are simply discerning the fruition 
of the human hopes in discerning God, and when you remember that God 
has shown himself to us in saving love, with the intent that man may be 
delivered out of all evil bondage, into the glorious liberty of the sons of 
God, then do you fully behold that the whole great scheme of existence 
corresponds together. 

Man aspiring to immortality, is aspiring into the bosom of his Father, 
and his Father is there to receive him. God taking hold upon man to 
bring him to his true self and service is undertaking a task unlimited, for 
in immortality, God will bring man to the end for which He first designed 
him and will use him eternally for all the high and glorious purposes to 
which his nature is adapted. 

—William Newton Clarke, D.D. 



*</^\ SO far," one saith, "so far, 
^* 1 Lies the shadow-circled shore; 
Who shall tell us where they are, 

Since they come to us no more? 
Farther than the arrow flies, 

Upward sped from swiftest string; 
Farther than the cloud-wreaths rise 

From the mountains where they cling; 
Nor the wing of homing bird 

Bears our greetings to that strand, 
Nor our grief-wrung sighs have stirred 

Aught of answer from that land. 
O, so far, so strange and far 
Out beyond the tideless bar, 
Farther than the storm-cloud lightens, 
Farther than the sunset brightens ; 
Not the eagle's loftiest soaring, 
Nor love's uttermost imploring, 
Scales the lowest battlement 
Of the city where they went." 

Nay, but said He so who came 

Thence, and thither went again ? 
Now and yesterday the same, 

Son of God, and man of men? 
Going did he close the gate 

Fast behind an iron bar? 
We who strive and they who wait — 

Are we set apart so far? 
Though the veil of death be dim, 

Shall not love His tryst fulfil? 
He with us, and they with Him, 

Are we not together still? 
Not beyond the sunset height, 

Not beyond the ocean-foam; 

Near, tho' hidden from our sight, 

As hearth-side friends of home ; 

Steps beyond a lifting latch 

Veiled — as glad eyes blind with tears 

When a long-wished joy appears. 

O, not far they dwell, not far, 
Near as faith and mercy are ; 
Near — as ears that lean to catch 
Star-sown heights nor depths can part 
Friends who meet in Jesus' heart. 
Ramparts of the sunrise sky, 
Bastions of infinity, 
Are but outworks of the home 
Unto which we two shall come. 
Here the gate is open wide 

There the farthest courts of space 
Center on one altar-side, 

Lighted by one blessed Face. 
We on earth our own above, 
Linked in hope and life and love — 
For the city where they went 
Is the home of heart-content. 
^ e ™Gd£n°RuU Co — Mabel Earle. 

* * {"** OOD-B Y, till morning come again," 
^-* We part, but not with aught of pain, 
The night is short, and hope is sweet, 
It fills our hearts, and wings our feet; 

And so we sing the glad refrain, 

"Good-by, till morning come again." 

"Good-by, till morning come again," 
The shade of death brings thought of pain, 
But could we know how short the night 
That falls, and hides them from our sight, 
Our hearts would sing the glad refrain, 
"Good-by, till morning come again." 

— Anon. 


T DO not think of them as dead 
* Who walk with me no more; 
Along the path of life I tread, 
They have but gone before. 

The Father's house is mansioned fair 

Beyond my vision dim; 
All souls are his and here or there 

Are living unto him. 

And still their silent ministry 

Within my heart hath place, 
As when on earth they walked with me 

And met me face to face. 

Their lives are made forever mine; 

What they to me have been 
Hath left henceforth its seal and sign 

Engraven deep within. 

Mine are they by an ownership 

Nor time nor death can free; 
For God hath given love to keep 

Its own eternally. 

— Frederick L. Hosmer. 

3ftt tfje JUisfjt 

/^\UT of the night she came to me, 
^^ Into the dark she went — 
Now no more than a name to me, 
A dear dream that God sent. 

It was a dearer dream to me 
Than any rhyme can tell: : 

Her name will ever seem to me 
Sweeter than evening bell. 


She filled life's empty cup to me 

Brimful, a moment's space, 
With soft eyes looking up to me 

To drink to her dear face. 

Out of the dark she came to me, 

Through the night she went away; 
But the night is never the same to me 

She left a hope of day! 

— Odell Shepard. 

W$t Cfjotr StrtriStWe 

/^H, MAY I join the choir invisible 
^^ Of those immortal dead who live again 

In minds made better by their presence; live 

In pulses stirred to generosity, 

In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn 

For miserable aims that end in self, 

In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, 

And with their mild persistence, urge men's search 

To vaster issues. So to live is heaven; 

To make undying music in the world, 

Breathing as beauteous order that controls 

With growing sway the growing life of man. 
This is life to come, 

Which martyred men have made more glorious 

For us to strive for. May I reach 

That purest heaven, to be to other souls 

The cup of strength in some great agony, 

Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, 

Beget the smiles that have no cruelty — 

Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, 

And in diffusion ever more intense. 

So shall I join the choir invisible 

Whose music is the gladness of the world. 

— George Eliot. 



HOW can I cease to pray for thee? Somewhere 
In God's great universe thou art today. 
Can he not reach thee with his tender care? 
Can he not hear me when for thee I pray? 

What matters it to Him who holds within 

The hollow of his hand all worlds, all space, 

That thou art done with earthly pain and sin? 
Somewhere within his ken thou hast a place. 

Somewhere thou livest and hast need of Him; 

Somewhere thy soul sees higher heights to climb, 
And somewhere still there may be valleys dim 

That thou must pass to reach the hills sublime. 

Then all the more because thou canst not hear, 
Poor human words of blessing will I pray. 

O true brave heart; God bless thee, whereso'er 
In his great universe thou art today. 

— Julia Caroline Dorr. 

T^AR beyond the sunrise and the sunset rises 
*■ Heaven, with worlds on worlds that lighten and respond: 

Thought can see not thence the goal of hope's surmises 
Far beyond. 

Night and day have made an everlasting bond 

Each with each to hide in yet more deep disguises 
Truth, till souls of men that thirst for truth despond. 

All that man in pride of spirit slights or prizes, 

All the dreams that make him fearful, fain or fond, 
Fade at forethought's touch of life's unknown surprises 
Far beyond. 

— Algernon Charles Swinburne. 

gfolb Hang £>pne 

IT SINGETH low in every heart, 
* We hear it, each and all, — 
A song of those who answer not, 

However we may call; 
They throng the silence of the breast, 

We see them as of yore, — 
The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet, 

Who walk with us no more. 

'Tis hard to take the burden up, 

When these have laid it down; 
They brightened all the joy of life, 

They softened every frown; 
But oh, 'tis good to think of them, 

When we are troubled sore, — 
Thanks be to God that such have been, 

Though they are here no more. 

More homelike seems the vast unknown, 

Since they have entered there; 
To follow them were not so hard, 

Wherever they may fare; 
They cannot be where God is not, 

On any sea or shore; 
Whate'er betides, their love abides, 

And God's forevermore. — /. W . Chadmc\. 

Wbt ^>ons Celestial 

XT AY, but as when one layeth 
■*■ ^ His worn-out robes away, 
And, taking new ones, sayeth, 

"These will I wear today!" 
So putteth by the spirit 

Lightly its garb of flesh, 
And passeth to inherit 

A residence afresh. Trans, fcp Edwin Arnold. 

Htfe anb 3Beatfj 

LET us come at once to the fountain head of Christian experience, our 
-• Lord Jesus Christ. Reading his words and his life together, and 
taking our stand at his cross, we learn that suffering is the realization of the 
sublimity of the good — without it, even God would go short of that ex- 
perience. And here the light of Jesus lightens the darkness of our per- 
plexity. His goodness was sublime, when seen in the setting of physical 
limitations, involving the very worst that earthly evil could inflict, and cul- 
mination in his death. To such goodness as his, death was only the eman- 
cipation from those hampering conditions, without which his divine glory 
could not have been what it was. Death was his homegoing, his liberation 
from the thralldom and restriction, which had power to cause him pain; it 
was the entrance upon his true life, the life of eternal freedom and joy. 

So it is with us. Pain and sorrow are God himself breaking the 
fetters which are binding us to the things of time and sense. Death is 
only our call homeward to where we belong. Every seeming disaster is 
but the shattering of a form, to liberate a reality that is too great for it. 
This life does not matter much except as an arena in which to manifest 
a little of the eternal glory which we share with God. There is no real 
reason why we should consider it a calamity that God has liberated a 
spirit from its earthly tenement and taken it home to himself, and some 
day we shall smile to think that we ever thought so. 

— R. J. Campbell. 


MAN is an infinite little copy of God. Little as I am, I feel the 
God in me, because I can also bring forth from out of my chaos. 
I am rising, I know toward the sky. The sunshine is on my head. The 
earth gives me its generous sap, but heaven lights me with the reflection 
of unknown worlds. Winter is on my head, and eternal spring is in my 
heart. The nearer I approach the end, the plainer I hear around me the 
immortal symphonies of the worlds which invite me. It is marvelous yet 
simple. It is a fairy tale and it is history. For half a century I have 
been writing my thoughts in prose and verse, history, philosophy, drama, 
romance, tradition, satire, ode and song. I have tried all, but feel that 
I have not said a thousandth part of what is in me. When I go down to 
the grave, I can say like many others, I have finished my day's work; 
but I cannot say I have finished my life. My days will begin again the 
next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley; it is a thoroughfare. It 
closes on the twilight to open on the dawn. — Victor Hugo. 



/^ALM as beneath its mother's eyes, 
^^ In sleep the smiling infant lies, 
So, watched by all the stars at night, 

Yon landscape sleeps in light. 
And while the night breeze dies away, 

Like relics of some faded strain, 
Loved voices, lost for many a day, 

Seem whispering round me once again 
Oh, youth! oh, love! ye dreams that shed 

Such glory once — where are ye fled? 

Pure ray of light that down the sky, 

Art pointing like an angel's wand, 
As if to guide to realms that lie 

In that bright sea beyond: 
We know that in some brighter deep 

Than e'en that tranquil moonlit main, 
There is a land where those who weep 

Shall wake to smile again. 

— Thomas Moore. 

3 g>fmll imoto W$tt 

ITOW shall I know thee in the sphere that keeps 
* * The disembodied spirits of the dead, 
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps 
And perishes amidst the dust we tread? 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not; 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy beloved eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thine own true heart demand me there? 

That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given: 
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 

And wilt thou never utter it in heaven? 


In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, 

In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 
And larger movements of the unfettered mind, 

Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? 

Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 

The same fair, thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? 

Shalt thou not teach me in that calmer home 

The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — 
The wisdom which is love — till I become 

Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? 

— William Cullen Bryant. 

Jfartfter ©n 

I HEAR it singing, sweetly singing, 
* Singing in an undertone, 
Singing as if God had taught it — 
"It is better farther on." 

Night and day it sings the sonnet, 

Sings it while it sits alone; 
Sings so that the heart may hear it, 

"It is better farther on." 


Sits upon the grave and sings it; 

Sings it while the heart would groan, 
Sings it when the shadows darken — 

"It is better farther on." 

Farther on? Ah, how much farther? 

Count the milestones one by one; 
No; not counting, only trusting — 

It is better farther on. 


Efje infinite 

INTO the eternal shadows 
•^ That gird thy life around, 
Into the infinite silence 

Wherewith Death's shore is bound, 
Thou art gone forth beloved; 

And I were mean to weep, 
That thou hast left life's shallows, 

And dost possess the Deep. 

Thou liest low and silent, 

Thy heart is cold and still, 
Thine eyes are shut forever, 

And death has had his will; 
He loved and would have taken, 

I loved and would have kept, 
We strove — and he was stronger, 

And I have never wept. 

Death may possess thy body, 

Thy soul is still with me, 
More sunny and more gladsome 

Than it was wont to be: 
Thy body was a fetter 

That bound me to the flesh, 
Thank God that it is broken, 

And now I live afresh. 

Now I can see thee clearly, 

The dusky cloud of clay, 
That hid thy starry spirit, 

Is rent and blown away: 
To earth I give thy body, 

Thy spirit to the sky, 
I saw its bright wings growing, 

And knew that it must fly. 


Now I can love thee truly, 

For nothing comes between 
The senses and thy spirit, 

The seen and the unseen; 
Lift the eternal shadows, 

The silence bursts apart, 
And the soul's boundless future 

Is present in my heart. 



'HY be afraid of death, 

As though your life were breath? 
Death but anoints your eyes 

With clay. O glad surprise. 
Why should you be forlorn? 

Death only husks the corn. 
Why should you fear to meet 

The thresher of the wheat? 
Is sleep a thing to dread? 

Yet sleeping you are dead 
Till you awake and rise 

Here, or beyond the skies. 
Why should it be a wrench 

To leave your wooden bench, 
Why not with happy shout, 

Run home when school is out? 
The dear ones left behind, 

O foolish one, and blind, 
A day — and you will meet — 

A night and you will greet. 
This is the death of Death, 

To breathe away the breath 
And know the end of strife 

And taste the deathless life 
And joy without a fear, 

And smile without a tear, 
And work with heaven's rest, 

And find the last the best. 

^fes™ Maltb " Babcoch 



O OMETIME, when all life's lessons have been learned, 

^ And sun and moon forevermore have set, 

The things which our weak judgment here have spurned, 

The things o'er which we grieved with lashes wet, 
Will flash before us out of life's dark night, 

As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue 
And we shall see how all God's plans were right, 

And how what seemed reproof was love most true. 

And if sometimes commingled with life's wine, 

We find the wormwood and rebel and shrink, 
Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine 

Pours out this portion for our lips to drink: 
And if some friend we love is lying low, 

Where human kisses cannot reach his face, 
O do not blame your loving Father so, 

But wear your crown of sorrow with obedient grace. 

And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath, 

Is not the sweetest gift God sends his friend, 
And that sometimes the sable pall of death 

Conceals the fairest boon his love can send. 
If we could push ajar the gates of life, 

And stand within and all God's workings see 
We could interpret all this doubt and strife, 

And for each mystery could find a key. 

But not today. Then be content, poor heart; 

God's plans like lilies pure and white unfold. 
We must not tear the close shut leaves apart; 

Time will reveal the calyxes of gold; 
And if through patient toil we reach the land 

Where tired feet with sandals loose may rest, 
When we shall clearly know and understand, 

I feel that we shall say, "God knew the best." 

— May Riley Smith. 


fabtx tfje Efoer Ityep Reckon 

OVER the river they beckon to me, 
Loved ones who've crossed to the other side, 
The gleam of their snowy robes I see, 

But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. 
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, 

And eyes with the reflection of heaven's blue, 
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, 

And the pale mists hid him from mortal view; 
We saw not the angels who met him there, 

The gates of the city we could not see; 
Over the river, over the river, 

My brother stands waiting to welcome me. 

Over the river, the boatman pale 

Carried another, the household pet; 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, 

Precious darling, I see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark, 
We felt it glide from the silver sands, 

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark; 
We know she is safe on the further side, 

Where all the ransomed and angels be; 
Over the river, the mystic river, 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 

And I sit and think when the sunset's gold 

Is flushing river and hill and shore, 
I shall one day stand by the water cold 

And list for the sound of the boatman's oar; 
And watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, 

I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, 
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, 

To the better shore of the spirit land. 
I shall know the loved who have gone before, 

And joyfully sweet shall the meeting be, 
When over the river, the peaceful river, 

The Angel of Life shall carry me. 

— Nancy A. W. Priest. 


Sometime WU tHnberstanb 

NOT now, but in the coming years, when we shall reach the better 
We'll read the meaning of our tears, and there, sometime, we'll under- 

We'll catch the broken threads again, and finish what we here began, 
Heaven will the mystery explain, and then, ah, then we'll understand. 

We'll know why clouds instead of sun, were over many a cherished plan, 
Why songs have ceased when scarce begun, for there, sometime, we'll 

Why what we long for most of all, eludes so oft our eager hand, 
Why hopes are crushed and castles fall, up. there, sometime, we'll under- 

God knows the way, He holds the key, He guides us with unerring hand, 
Sometime with tearless eyes we'll see, yes, there, up there, we'll understand. 

Then trust in God, thro' all thy days ; fear not for He doth hold thy hand, 
Tho' dark the night, still sing and praise, sometime, sometime, we'll 

Copyright, i8az, by — Maxwell N. Cornelius. 

James McGranaban 


THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, 
But one dead lamb is there, 
There is no fireside howso'er defended, 
But has one vacant chair. 

The air is full of farewells to the dying; 

And mournings for the dead; 
The heart of Rachel for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted. 

Let us be patient. These severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise. 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 


We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; 

Amid these earthly damps, 
What seem to us but sad funereal tapers 

May be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no death. What seems so is transition; 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portals we call death. 

And tho' at times impetuous with emotion 

And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 

That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient and assuage the feeling 

We may not wholly stay; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing, 

The grief that must have way. 

— H. W. Longfellow. 

W$t jfflotmtams of Htfe 

THERE'S a land far away, 'mid the stars we are told, 
Where they know not the sorrow of time, — 
Where the pure waters wander through valleys of gold, 

And life is a treasure sublime; — 
'Tis the land of our God, 'tis the home of the soul, 
Where the ages of splendor eternally roll; 
Where the way weary traveler reaches his goal, 
On the evergreen Mountains of Life. 

Our gaze cannot soar to that beautiful land, 

But our visions have told of its bliss, — 
And our souls by the gale of its gardens are fanned, 

When we faint in the deserts of this; 
And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose, 
When our spirits were torn with temptations and woes, 
And we've drank from the tide of the river that flows, 
From the evergreen Mountains of Life. 


Oh, the stars never tread the blue heavens at night, 

But we think where the ransomed have trod, 
And the day never smiles from his palace of light, 

But we feel the bright smile of our God. 
We are traveling homeward through changes and gloom, 
To a kingdom where pleasures unceasingly bloom, 
And our guide is the glory that shines through the tomb, 
From the evergreen Mountains of God. 

— /. G. Clark. 

?|eatoen'g &e*t 

THERE is an hour of peaceful rest 
To mourning wanderers given; 
There is a joy for souls distrest, 
A balm for every wounded breast, 
'Tis found above, in heaven. 

There is a soft, a downy bed, 

'Tis fair as breath of even; 
A couch for weary mortals spread, 
Where they may rest the aching head, 

And find repose — in heaven. 

There is a home for weary souls 

By sin and sorrow driven; 
WTien tossed on life's tempestuous shoals, 
When storms arise and ocean rolls, 

And all is drear but heaven. 

There, Faith lifts up her cheerful eye, 

To brighten prospects given; 
And views the tempest passing by, 
The evening shadows quickly fly, 

And all serene in heaven. 

There fragrant flowers, immortal bloom, 

And joys supreme are given; 
There rays divine disperse the gloom: 
Beyond the confines of the tomb 

Appears the dawn of heaven. 

— William Bingham Tappan. 


C* VERY event agreeable to the course of nature ought to be looked 
*— ' on as a real good; and surely none can be more natural than for an 
old man to die. The disunion of the soul and the body is effected in the 
young by dint of violence, but is wrought out in the old by a mere full- 
ness of the completion of years. The ripeness of death I perceive in myself 
with much satisfaction; and I look forward to my approaching dissolution 
as to the entrance into a secure haven, where I may at length find a happy 
repose from the fatigues of a long voyage. 

The nearer death advances toward me, the more clearly I seem to 
discern its real nature. The soul, during her confinement within this prison 
of the body, is doomed by fate to undergo a severe penance; for her 
native seat is in heaven; and it is with reluctance that she is forced down 
from those celestial mansions into these lower regions, where all is for- 
eign and repugnant to her nature. 

This opinion I am induced to embrace, not only as agreeable to the 
best deductions of reason, but in just deference also to the most noble and 
distinguished philosophers. When I consider the faculty with which the 
human mind is endued, its amazing celerity, its wonderful power in recol- 
lecting past events, and its sagacity in determining the future, together with 
its numberless discoveries in the arts and sciences, I feel a conscious con- 
viction that this active comprehensive principle cannot possibly be of a mor- 
tal nature. 

For my own part, I feel transported with the most ardent impatience 
to join the society of my departed friends, whose characters I greatly re- 
spected and whose persons I sincerely loved. Nor is this earnest wish 
confined to those excellent persons alone with whom I was formerly con- 
nected: I ardently wish to visit those celebrated worthies of whose hon- 
orable conduct I have heard and read much. To this glorious assembly 
I am speedily advancing; and I would not now be turned back in my 
journey, even on the assured condition that my youth, like that of Pelias, 
should again be restored. In short, I consider this world as a place which 
Nature never designed for my permanent abode; and I look upon my de- 
parture from it, not as being driven from my habitation, but as leaving 
my inn. — Cicero. 



I LONG for household voices gone, 
For vanished smiles I long, 
But God hath led my dear ones on, 
And he can do no wrong. 

I know not what the future hath 

Of marvel or surprise, 
Assured alone that life and death, 

His mercy underlies. 

I dimly guess from blessings known 

Of greater out of sight, 
And with the chastened Psalmist own 

His judgments too, are right. 

And so beside the silent sea, 

I wait with muffled oar; 
No harm from him can come to me, 

On ocean or on shore. 

I know not where His islands lift 

Their fronded palms in air, 
I only know I cannot drift 

Beyond His love and care. 

— /. G. Whittier. 

3 g>f)aU be g>atisfeb 

THERE is a land where every pulse is thrilling 
With raptures earth's sojourners may not know, 
Where heaven's repose the weary heart is stilling, 
And peacefully life's time-tossed currents flow. 

Far out of sight, while yet the flesh enfolds us, 
Lies the fair city where our hearts abide, 

And of its bliss is naught more wondrous told us 
Than these few words, — "I shall be satisfied." 

O blessed thought, to know the spirit's yearning 
For sweet companionship with kindred minds — 

The silent love that here meets no returning — 
The inspiration which no language finds. 


Shall there be satisfied the soul's vague longing — 
The aching void which nothing earthly fills: 

Oh, what desires upon my soul are thronging, 
As I look upward to the heavenly hills! 

Thither my weak and weary steps are tending — 
Saviour and Lord, with thy frail child abide! 

Guide me toward home, where all my wanderings ending, 
I there shall see thee, and "be satisfied." 


FEAR death? — to feel the fog in my throat, 
The mist in my face, 
When the snows begin and the blasts denote, 

I am nearing the place, 
The power of the night, the press of the storm, 

The post of the foe; 
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, 

Yet the strong man must go; 
For the journey is done and the summit attain'd, 

And the barriers fall, 
Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, 

The reward of it all. 
I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more, 

The best and the last! 
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forebore, 

And bade me creep past. 
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers. 

The heroes of old; 
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears 

Of pain and darkness and cold. 
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, 

The black minute's at end, 
And the elements rage, the fiend voices that rave 

Shall dwindle, shall blend, 
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, 

Then a light, then thy breast, 
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, 

And with God be the rest! — Robert Browning. 


®fje eternal Home 

THE little child who comes into this world comes into a place which 
has been prepared for him. A mother's arms embrace him: A 
father's care protects him. So when he goes up into the world close by, 
and his tender feet pass beyond the veil, will he not be welcomed by as 
many loving hearts as when he came to us? 

There are families in heaven as well as on earth. This is a new tie, 
and another relationship. It constitutes what Paul calls "the family in 
heaven and earth." It connects in one bond time and eternity. It lifts 
us into communion with those, now in the other world, who lived here 
for generous ends. This tie brings heaven nearer to earth, and earth 
nearer to heaven. 

Whenever a good man, a pure woman, a lovely child, passes through 
this life into eternity, we feel that they make us more sure of our own 
immortality. We cannot believe that God who has caused all their sweet- 
ness, loveliness and nobility to be unfolded by the long process of time, 
will permit them at last to come to a sudden end. 

If God is really our Father, we are safe in his hands and all whom 
we love are safe. A perfect Creator does not create in order to destroy. 
What he gives he gives forever. The outward form may change, but the 
inward spirit, the divine life, the real being remains forever. 

The universe goes upward not downward. The souls whom God 
loves do not descend into death, but rise into a fuller and nobler life. His 
children are not lost when they pass from our sight, they have gone upward 
into life and heaven and home. Jesus hath "abolished death and brought 
life and immortality to light." 

"There are three things," says the apostle, "which resist decay, 
change and death;" these are faith, hope and love, and the dearest and 
sweetest of these is love. The love which continues in our hearts for those 
who may have left us long years ago, is itself the assurance that we belong 
to each other still. 

And so we realize that death is nothing; that we are already immor- 
tal; that the hour of immortal life cometh and now is. Death ceases to 
exist to a Christian. He looks forward to the time a change shall come 
which simply means a real awakening. Soft as an infant's sleep shall be 
the coming of the silent messenger. Sweet shall be the rest as it shall 
come to weary soul and exhausted body. Tenderly shall the cloud of the 
new life envelop us, hiding the familiar things from the failing sight, but 
we shall awake with no abrupt transition, with no more astonishment than 
after a night of glorious and refreshing slumber, and with a serene satis- 
faction we shall find ourselves gently led into new being in the midst of 
friends old and new. — James Freeman Clark- 



THERE is no loss, however great the seeming, 
There is no power to keep the soul from gain; 
For life and love, however dim the dreaming, 
Must end sometime in peace, all free from pain. 

We love, and lose the heart's most cherished treasure, 
And life seems empty as a gaping tomb — 

We feel that Grief has overfilled her measure — 
The threads of gray run thickly through Life's loom. 

But underneath the heart-break of all being 

There is the law — the Universal Call — 
"Life leads to love, and love to endless giving" — 

We find our own, and hold it all in all. 

Each life must sometime know this great unveiling, 
Must sometime gather up the harvest sown ; 

Roses will bloom through seasons never failing — 
The heart rejoice and grief be overthrown. 

Note: The compiler regrets sincerely that he has been unable to learn the author of this beautiful poem. 


MOTHER left us at sunset yesterday — crossing the great divide. 
With a fortitude that has graced none more fair, she took her leave 
of life without a fear. Through weeks of silent suffering she looked calmly 
into the future, and did not falter; with a heroism born of her supreme 
faith in Jesus of Nazareth she approached the end, trilling with her latest 
breath the high note of exultation — as one who knocks at the gate of eter- 
nal morning. 

Each returning springtime, when the lilacs and the snowball hold 
their carnival, will recall to us the passing of the sweetest, noblest char- 
acter we have known. Shrouded in her robes immaculate, asleep beneath 
a wilderness of flowers, that fain would have kissed her eyelids to awaken- 
ing, we sent the precious earthly casket back to the old eastern home. 
There, beneath the whispering pines, within sound of the babbling stream 
which for more than forty years was to her the sweetest music of earth, 
"We paused and breathed a prayer above the sod, 
And left her to her rest and God." 
With her ear attuned to the music of the infinite she caught up the 
celestial strain, and the harmonies of a noble life, set vibrating by her on 
earth, were blended triumphantly with the eternal anthems of the heavenly 
home. — Luther C. Bailey. 


Wt)t Contemplation of Smmortalitp 

BRETHREN, I beseech you, treasure the thought of endless life more 
than you do. I do not know how it is, but it seems to me that the 
Christianity of this day is largely losing the habitual contemplation of im- 
mortality which gave so much of its strength to the religion of past genera- 
tions. We are all so busy in setting forth and enforcing the blessings of 
Christianity in its effects in the present life, that I fear me we are largely 
forgetting what it does for us at the end and beyond the end. And I 
would that we all thought more of the exodus from this life and of our 
entrance into that life, in the light of Christ's death and resurrection. Such 
contemplation will not unfit us for any duty or any enjoyment. It will 
lift us above the absorbed occupation with present trivialities, which is the 
bane of all that is good and noble. It will teach us a solemn scorn of 
ills. It will set on the furthest horizon a great light instead of a doleful 
darkness, and it will deliver us from the dread of that "shadow feared of 
man," but not of those who, listening to Jesus Christ, have been taught 
that to depart is to be with Him. — Alexander McLaren. 


CALMLY, calmy, lay him down! 
He has won a noble fight; 
He has battled for the right; 
He has won a fadeless crown. 

Mem'ries all too bright for tears, 

Crowd around us from the past; 

He was faithful to the last — 
Faithful through long toilsome years. 

All that makes for human good, 

Freedom, righteousness and truth, 

These the objects of his youth, 
Unto age he still pursued. 

Kind and gentle was his soul, 

Yet it had a glorious might; 

Clouded minds it filled with light, 
Wounded spirits it made whole. 

Hoping, trusting, lay him down! 

Many in the realms above 

Look for him with eyes of love, 
Wreathing him immortal crown. 

— Hebrew Hymn Book- 


Wi)t gfogete of (grief 

WITH silence only as their benediction, 
God's angels come 
Where in the shadow of a great affliction, 
The soul sits dumb. 

Yet would I say what thine own heart approveth; 

Our Father's will, 
Calling to him the dear one whom he loveth, 

Is mercy still. 

Not upon thee or thine the solemn angel 

Hath evil wrought; 
The funeral anthem is a glad evangel, — 

The good die not. 

God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly 

What he hath given; 
They live on earth, in thought and deed as truly 

As we in heaven. 

Vermissionof _ /. G. WhHtieT. 

Houghton, Mifflin Co. J 


BEYOND these chilling winds and gloomy skies, 
Beneath death's cloudy portal, 
There is a land where beauty never dies, 
Where love becomes immortal. 

A land whose life is never dimmed by shade, 

Whose fields are ever vernal; 
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade 

But blooms for aye eternal. 

The city's shining towers we may not see 

With our dim earthly vision, 
For Death, the silent warder keeps the key 

That opes the gates elysian. 

But sometimes when adown the western sky, 

A fiery sunset lingers, 
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly 

Unlocked by unseen fingers. 


And while they stand a moment half ajar, 

Gleams from the inner glory 
Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, 

And half reveal the story. 

O land unknown ! O land divine ! 

Father all-wise eternal, 
Oh, guide these wandering wayworn feet of mine 

Into those pastures vernal. 

— Nancy W. Priest. 

Crossing tfje par 

O UNSET and evening star, 
^ And one clear call for me, 
And may there be no moaning of the bar 
When I put out to sea. 

But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 

Too full for sound or foam, 
When that which drew from out the boundless deep 

Turns again home. 

Twilight and evening bell, 

And after that the dark, 
And may there be no sadness of farewell, 

When I embark. 

For though from out our bourne of time and place 

The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to meet my pilot face to face, 

When I have crossed the bar. 

— Tennyson. 


Jfrom tfje ptfole 

LET not your hearts be troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in me. 
In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would 
have told you; I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare 
a place for you, I will come again and will receive you unto myself; that 
where I am, there ye may be also. 

I will pray the Father and he shall give you another Comforter, that 
he may abide with you forever. I will not leave you comfortless: I will 
come to you. Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as 
the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither 
let it be afraid. 

I am the resurrection and the life: 

He that believeth in me though he were dead 

Yet shall he live again, 

And whosoever liveth and believeth in me 

Shall never die. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. 

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside 
the still waters. 

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for 
his name's sake. 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I 
will fear no evil: for thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff they com- 
fort me. 

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; 
thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: 
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

But I would not have you to be ignorant brethren, 

Concerning them which are asleep, 
That ye sorrow not even as others 

Which have no hope. 
For, if we believe that Jesus died 

And rose again, even so 
Them also which sleep in Jesus 

Will God bring with him. 

There is a natural body and there is a spiritual body. And as 
we have borne the image of the earthly we shall also bear the image of 
the heavenly. It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption. It is 
sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; It is sown in weakness, it is raised 
in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. 


For this corruptible must put on incorruption, 
And this mortal must put on immortality, 

But when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, 
And this mortal shall have put on immortality, 

Then shall come to pass the saying that is written, 
Death is swallowed up in victory. 

They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; 

Neither shall the sun strike them nor any heat: 

For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall be their shepherd, 

And shall guide them unto the fountains of waters of life, 

And God shall wipe away every tear from their eyes. 

And there shall be no more death neither sorrow, nor crying, neither 
shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. 

tEfjc £ano of eternal %iit 

AND he showed me a pure river of water of life, 
. Clear as crystal, 
Proceeding out of the throne of God 
And of the Lamb. 

And in the midst of the street of it 

And on either side of the river 
Was there the tree of life, 

Bearing twelve manner of fruits, 

And yielding its fruit every month; 
And the leaves of the tree 

Were for the healing of the nations. 

And there shall be no more curse, 

But the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it, 
And his servants shall serve him, 

And they shall see his face, and his name 

Shall be in their foreheads. 

And there shall be no night there, 

And they need no candle, neither light of the sun, 
For the Lord God giveth them light, 

And they shall reign forever and ever. 

Blessed are they that do his commandments, 
That they may have right to the tree of life, 
And may enter in through the gates 

Into the city. — Revelation 22. 


Qfye ©lb Cfmrrfjparb 

T N THE old churchyard, tho' the sun at morning gleams, 

* They who sleep within its bosom, never waken from their dreams, 

Nor answer when you call them, nor listen when you speak, 

Nor know you weep above them, and that your heart may break; 

But still amid the silence, 'neath the soft, green mantled sward, 

They sweetly rest and slumber, in the old churchyard. 

Yet, somehow, when the gentle winds across the grasses blow, 

There is something in its whisper, like the voice you used to know, 

And you dream that as it passes, every gleaming drop of dew 

Is a tear that some lost loved one, has left behind for you, 

And the soul leaps through the gates that Death, for pity leaves unbarred, 

Twixt you and those that love you, in the old churchyard. 

Mine own are there, mine own that left me lonely long ago, 
For whom my heart full long hath wept and still doth hunger so; 
No stranger sleeps among them all, not one, but could he rise, 
Would welcome me with all the dear, old gladness in his eyes, 
And so I bend above them, feeling still their love will guard, 
And cherish him who mourns them in the old churchyard. 

Oh, the old churchyard! tho* I wander o'er the sea, 
Through farthest leagues of distance, it is ever near to me. 
Life brings me no new lessons that can teach me to forget 
The love that first it brought me, and is the fondest yet. 
And when the days are ended, and the night comes on unstarred, 
There is rest for hearts aweary, in the old churchyard. 

— Anon. 

&equte&at in $ace 

IV /f AY all the sweet and thrilling influences of fragrant fields, of flow- 
*** ering plants, of bursting buds and blossoming vines, of silvery 
streams and genial showers, of setting suns, of jeweled nights and dawn- 
ing days, melodious with the songs of birds and with all the wondrous har- 
monies of Nature, be with our loved ones as they break the fetters of this 
earthly life. 


Heaven is peopled with those we see no more. What we call death, 
doth not destroy us, but separates by a mysterious alchemy, the "mortal" 
from the "immortal," and completes the short journey from this world to 
the other. 

While we are saying "Good night" to those who close their eyes in 
the sleep of death, they are listening to a "Good morning" from those 
who have joined the great majority. We say then not "Farewell," but 
look upward and follow them to the higher realm. 

With morn, with noon, with night; with changing clouds and change- 
less stars; with grass, with trees and singing birds; with flowers and blos- 
soming vines; with all the sweet and beneficent influences of Nature and 
with the tender and precious memory of kindred and friends, we leave our 
loved ones who have passed beyond our mortal sight, in the infinitely tender 
care of our Heavenly Father. 

—Prof. W. C. Bowman. 

Jf raternal Jf aretoell 

TN THIS fair spot, "God's acre," 
•"■ We leave — with gentle tread — 
Our Brothers who have "gone before," 
Our loved and honored dead. 

But still — tho' in the daily throng, 

Of Time's onmoving host, 
We see their manly forms no more — 

They surely are not lost. 

For ever in our heart of hearts, 

Their memory we shall keep, 
While in this consecrated spot, 

Their sacred ashes sleep. 

Till as the circling years shall pass, 

We too shall with them rest, 
Within the great Grand Lodge at last, 

In Heaven, forever blest. 

— C. C. Pierce. 


Closing OTorbs 


*~*^ We have gathered here, that we may reverently lay away, in 

its final resting place, the dear earthly tabernacle of this one we loved so 
well. Tearfully, tenderly, and with lonely hearts, do we commit this be- 
loved form to the keeping of "Mother Earth," where all those who have 
gone before, have found a resting place — where all who live, and all who 
will yet live, must finally be laid. 

But we "sorrow not as those which have no hope." The dear soul 
we knew, has simply moved out of the body that we see, into the body 
that we cannot see — gone from the "natural body" to dwell in the "spir- 
itual body." 

Deeply do we sorrow, because we shall look upon this beloved earthly 
form no more, but we rejoice amid our tears, in a knowledge of life, which 
is triumphant over seeming death, in a faith which sees beyond the grave, 
and in a blessed consciousness that our unseen loved ones are alive with 
God forever. 

We do not commit our loved one to this narrow resting place, but 
leave here only the body, the frail, earthly and perishing tabernacle of the 
soul — the outgrown house, which we loved for the sake of the one who 
lived here for a time. And into that higher, truer, spiritual life, which our 
dear one has now fully entered, into its broader spheres of action, its lof- 
tier companionships, and its diviner destiny, may we all come through the 
infinite compassion and power of our loving heavenly Father. 

To him that overcometh, will I grant to sit with me in my throne, 
even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne. 



A LMIGHTY GOD, with whom do live the spirits of those who de- 
* *■ part hence in the Lord, and with whom the souls of the faithful, after 
they are delivered from the burden of the flesh, are in joy and felicity; 
we give thee hearty thanks for the good examples of all those thy servants, 
who, having finished their course in faith, do now rest from their labors. 
And we beseech thee that we, with all those who have departed in the 
true faith of thy holy name, may have our perfect consummation and 
bliss, both in body and soul, in thy eternal and everlasting glory, and 
furthermore, we pray that in the general resurrection in the last day, we 
may be found acceptable in thy sight; and receive that blessing, which thy 
well-beloved Son shall then pronounce to all those who love and fear thee, 
saying, "Come ye blessed of my Father, receive ye the kingdom prepared 
for you from the beginning of the world." Grant this we beseech thee, O 
merciful Father, through Jesus Christ our Mediator and Redeemer. 

— From the Book of "Common Prayer." 

O Thou Prince of Life and First-Begotten of the dead, who by thy 
glorious resurrection, hath overcome death and opened unto us the gates 
of everlasting life; enable us by thy heavenly grace to walk in newness 
of life, and to abound in the fruits of righteousness, so that we may at 
last triumph over death and the grave, and rise in Thy likeness, having 
our mortal bodies changed into the fashion of Thine own glorious body, 
our God over all, blessed forever. Amen. 

— George Dana Boardman. 

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor 
principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, 
nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the 
love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Paul. 


$tax TrXobtecum 

IN THIS world, saddened forever by the consciousness of death, the 
unquenchable hope of eternal life is interwoven into all our thoughts, 
aspirations and dreams. It belongs exclusively to no age, no religion, no 
special type of civilization, no epoch in human history. It is as old as the 
race and as wide as human consciousness. This great hope, like an anchor 
to the soul, holds us from being driven upon the rocks of despair, when the 
wild tempests of sorrow, which we can neither avert nor understand surge 
about us. Some aspirations and impulses are centered too deeply in the 
fundamental nature of the soul to admit of any specific proof as to either 
their origin or their final goal. The blessed hope of eternal life, abides 
ever in human hearts, because back of it, and beyond, is a reality too deep 
for expression in the ordinary terms of knowledge. Sorrow at the loss of 
our loved ones, an unbroken tide, sweeps ever across human history and 
human experience, but like the tides of the ocean, drawn from their dark 
depths by the attraction of a heavenly body, humanity's unending sorrow 
is the response of the soul to that which is really above. The sweetest 
thing in this world is love, the one heavenly element which coming here 
from a divine source, lifts all life out of its sordidness and cruelty. With- 
out love, the palace is a prison; with it, the humblest cottage becomes the 
abode of blessedness. As the mysterious spark of life appropriates the 
surrounding dead and sordid elements, building them up into creations of 
beauty and wonder, so love by its potent alchemy glorifies all being, and 
transforms our bitterest experiences into a foretaste of heaven. Love lives 
ever. Love is eternal. Faith, hope and love shall abide, and the greatest 
of these is love. Hope and faith, following where love leads the way, 
will guide the lives of those who sorrow, into the fields of a blessed satis- 
faction and a perfect peace. — C. C. Pierce. 


IMe of Contents! 


Beyond 35 

Beyond These Chilling Winds 57 

Christus Consolator 11 

Can I Forget That Yesterday 13 

Come Ye Disconsolate 28 

Calm As Beneath a Mother's Eye 42 
Calmly Calmy Lay Him Down.... 56 

Crossing the Bar 58 

Farewell Sweetheart 20 

Far Beyond the Sunrise 39 

Fraternal Farewell 62 

Goodby Till Morning 36 

How Can I Cease to Pray 39 

How Shall I Know Thee 42 

His Ways 19 

In Memoriam 12 

It Singeth Low in Every Heart . . 40 

It Seemeth Such a Little Way 14 

If You Are There 21 

It Lies Around Us Like a Cloud. 30 

I Know Not How 31 

I Do Not Think of Them As Dead 37 

It Is Better Farther On 43 

Into the Eternal Shadows 44 

I Long for Household Voices 52 

I Shall Be Satisfied 52 

In the Old Churchyard 61 

Lead Kindly Light 18 

My Own Shall Come 33 

Not Changed But Glorified 23 

Our Love Is Not a Fading Flower 18 

Out of the Night She Came 37 

Over the River They Beckon 47 

Prospice 53 

Sometime 46 

Sometime We'll Understand 48 

There Is No Death 16 

They Covered My Bed With Roses 26 

The Country of the Noble 27 

The Choir Invisible 38 

There Is No Flock 48 

The Mountains of Life 49 

There Is an Hour of Peaceful Rest 50 

There Is No Loss 55 

The Land of Eternal Life 60 

The Song Celestial 40 

The Angels of Grief 57 

Why Be Afraid of Death 45 

Yet Hope Will Dream 24 


A Letter 15 

A Prayer of Submission 9 

A Message 10 

Contemplations of Immortality ... 56 

Closing Words 63 

Death and the Future 29 

Eternal Life 19 

Fulfillment 32 

Heaven Is Our Home 22 

Living Still 22 

Life and Death 41 

Mother 55 

Pax Vobiscum 65 

Requiescat in Pace 61 

Prayer 64 

Selection from Washington Irving 25 

Selection from Victor Hugo 41 

Selection from Cicero 51 

Selections from the Bible 59 

The Coming Life 15 

The Destiny of Man 34 

The Eternal Home 54 

Recognition 29 

Jf riente in tfje Wln&ttn Hilt 

fiamt ©ate 

&ongg of Speaben 

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